


Draw Back The Curtain

by BearlyWriting



Series: DC Kinkmeme [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universes, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Filming, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multiple Universes, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Dick Grayson, This isn't an au but there are au elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: For the DC Kinkmeme prompt:Bruce has somehow invoked the wrath of an alternative version of himself, who decides to fuck with his life by making a porn video with his alternative son, who, whether acting or genuine, seems terrified and begging and desperate and clearly underage. He sends it to the original universe and those people closest to Bruce."It’s not real, Dick tells himself, again, but it doesn’t quell the urge to scream that’s building in Dick’s chest or the bile that’s licking at the back of his throat. Because that’s Dick’s little brother."
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, sort of but not in this universe?
Series: DC Kinkmeme [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742962
Comments: 177
Kudos: 489





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags guys! This was super hard to tag though, so if I've missed anything or you think there's something I should add, please let me know!
> 
> Also, as a warning, the first half of this chapter shows Dick watching the video. Skip to the second part (after the "⁂") if you don't want to read that part!
> 
> Here's the full prompt:
> 
> _Bruce has somehow invoked the wrath of an alternative version of himself, who decides to fuck with his life in a most devious way, attacking his obvious weak spot, Jason- who he's finally reconnecting with, and sure it's awkward and sometimes they both have to punch things after, but it's a hell of a lot better then it was and Red Hood has had a significant decrease in deaths in the past few months. Somehow (his Jason is younger?/any other way) this alternative version of Bruce makes a porn video with his alternative son, who, whether acting or genuine, seems terrified and begging and desperate and clearly underage and sends it to the original universe, probably those people closest to Bruce (interested specifically in seeing Dick's reaction)._
> 
> _+1 everyone assumes its fake, and run tests on the video, and oh god everything seems real  
>  +1 Jason doesn't get sent it and is out of the loop, "why does everyone seem so mad at Bruce? not that i'm complaining" + "why is everyone looking at me like they've seen a ghost. i know i was dead but jeez"  
> +1 Jason defending Bruce "what? he never did that" and he's right but then again everyone knows he's missing memories from his time in the pit and trauma can block memories too...  
> +1 Bruce's horror seeing himself do that and knowing he didn't, but the video exists and what in the world??_

It’s Bruce who sends it to him, which is one of the only reasons he watches it. Normally, Dick wouldn’t open random attachments sent with no warning or context, but...it’s Bruce. Dick trusts him, of all people, not to get hacked and not to send him something dodgy. He trusts Bruce.

So, when he opens it, he isn’t sure exactly what to expect, but he certainly isn’t anticipating anything _bad_. Some surveillance footage from a case that Batman needs help with, maybe. Or a video of Damian doing something that Bruce found particularly cute. Or maybe one of those boomer Facebook memes, if Dick actually thought Bruce had ever used Facebook in his life.

It’s none of those things. It is, bafflingly, a video of a young boy - who _definitely_ isn’t Damian - sitting on the edge of a large double bed, covered in dark silk sheets that Dick recognises. Dick recognises the boy too, after he gets over his initial confusion, because it’s Jason. A much younger, much cuter Jason, true. But Dick remembers him from those days, even if he wasn’t around as much as he should have been, and it’s clear that it’s him.

So Bruce found a cute video of Jason and sent it to him? That’s...okay, Bruce and Jason have been reconnecting recently, working hard on their relationship and seemingly getting somewhere, but this isn’t exactly normal Bruce behaviour. Maybe he’s feeling nostalgic. Looking at Jason’s little face staring up at the camera, Dick feels a pang of nostalgia too. Memories from this time are always tainted - with Dick’s anger, with Bruce’s grief, with Jason’s death. But sometimes it’s nice to revisit them. Dick can get behind that.

It’s hard to tell exactly how old Jason is in the video. Dick suspects it’s been less than a year since Bruce first found Jason, from the lingering leanness of his face, so around twelve or thirteen maybe. The age when Dick was still mostly oscillating between bitter resentment and cold avoidance.

The thought pinches something tight in his chest. Thinking about how much he missed out on with Jason always does that to him, always makes his throat ache and has him feeling faintly nauseated. Just because their relationship is getting better now, doesn’t mean that Dick hadn’t fucked it up in the past.

“What’s going on, B?” Younger Jason asks, small and clearly uncomfortable. “What’s with the camera?”

It’s something Dick is wondering too. It’s a strange scene - Jason on the end of Bruce’s bed, nothing else much of interest - Dick can’t see a reason to be filming it.

Bruce doesn’t reply, but he does step into frame. He looks younger too, although it’s obviously harder to tell. He’s wearing a tight-fitting robe that accentuates his muscles, showing off the bare curve of his calves as he moves closer to the bed. With a jolt, Dick realises that Jason is only half-dressed too, in boxers and a ratty t-shirt, his skinny arms and legs exposed. It’s not like either of them are naked but something about it seems a little...seedy. Maybe it’s the way it’s being filmed, as if Dick is looking through a peephole. Maybe it’s the bedroom, or the unusual amount of skin on show.

Technically, nothing is wrong but something cold and uncomfortable squirms in Dick’s gut anyway.

Maybe it’s because the Jason on screen looks even more uncomfortable than Dick feels. He stiffens as Bruce steps closer, wide white eyes flickering between his adoptive father’s face and the camera. The line of his shoulders is so tight that he’s almost trembling. When Bruce drops a hand to his shoulder, Jason flinches.

“Hey,” Bruce says, low and soft, in the same tone of voice as he’d always used to soothe Dick after a nightmare or when he was feeling sick. “You don’t have to be nervous. Just think of this as another training session. Just another condition of you staying here.”

That...that doesn’t sit right with Dick either. Sure, it had always felt a little like Dick’s place in the manor was dependent upon his status as Robin - with so much emphasis on the importance of their nightlife, with so much blur between hero and sidekick and ward and guardian, it had been hard not to feel that way - but Bruce had never actively encouraged it. In fact, it had been the opposite. Bruce had always tried to ensure that Dick knew he didn’t _have_ to be Robin, if he didn’t want to be.

Was it different for Jason? Is that why he’s so bitter about it now? So staunchly against child sidekicks? Because he felt he hadn’t had a choice? That doesn’t seem like Bruce, but on the other hand, it kind of does.

“A condition?” Jason asks. He frowns up at Bruce, craning his neck back to meet the man’s gaze. His hands are fists where they rest against his thighs, Dick can’t help but notice. “I thought -“ a jerky movement of his shoulders “- I thought you weren’t gonna kick me out.”

“I won’t. Not if you’re a good boy for me.”

The hand on Jason’s shoulder slides up his neck, slow and deliberate to cup over his jaw. A thumb reaches up to stroke softly over Jason’s bottom lip. The kid flinches but Bruce’s hand on his face keeps him mostly still.

The uncomfortable feeling intensifies. Dick swallows thickly, his throat tight with something like anxiety. What the hell is this? Where is this going?

“I don’t -“ Jason starts but Bruce cuts him off by pushing the thumb at his lip into his mouth, shushing him at the same time. Jason lets out a sharp noise of protest, one hand flying up to grip Bruce’s wrist but he doesn’t push him away.

“It’s okay, Jaylad,” Bruce soothes. His free hand fumbles with the tie of his robe until it comes loose. Jason’s eyes flicker down and spring wide in shock. This time, when Jason jerks away, Bruce let’s him, shrugging his robe off of his shoulders now that he’s no longer holding onto Jason.

Dick lets out his own startled noise and slams the laptop shut before he can think better of it.

Because Bruce is naked. He’s naked under that robe. Dick had seen the expanse of pale skin as the material had slid over it before dropping to the floor. With Jason sitting on the bed like that, he must have gotten an eyeful. Bruce’s dick must have been right in front of him.

It doesn’t make sense. Dick stares at the hastily closed laptop, breathing heavily, trying to make some sort of sense out of it in his head. Why would Bruce expose himself to a kid like that? To Jason? His adopted son? Sure, Dick has seen Bruce naked before: in the showers, sometimes, or when he’s burst in on Bruce without knocking. But it’s never been like this. Never so deliberate. Never with the weird setup or the strange, uncomfortable touching.

Maybe this is some sort of training? Something that Bruce had implemented after Dick had already flown the nest. Maybe there’s some context to this that Dick is missing - something that’ll explain the weirdness. There has to be a reason why Bruce is doing all of this, after all, why he filmed it, why he sent it to Dick now. 

Dick trusts Bruce. He does. There has to be something to explain this.

That’s what gives Dick the courage to open the laptop again, to press play on that video knowing he’s about to see his father figure butt naked on the screen - knowing that there has to be a reason for this.

The video starts playing exactly where it left off: a naked Bruce looming over twelve-year-old Jason where he’s sitting on that huge double bed.

“What the fuck?” Jason snaps, voice shaking, and it’s clear that if this is training or some sort of test, Jason hasn’t been forewarned about it. “What the fuck is this?”

“You like living here, don’t you Jay?” Bruce asks, apparently unconcerned by Jason’s obvious fear. “Don’t you want to keep me happy?”

But when he reaches out to touch the kid again, Jason knocks his hand aside, surging to his feet and pushing hard at Bruce’s chest in the same movement to try to put some space between them.

“No.” And Dick’s chest hurts at the tremble in his voice. “You said I ain’t gotta do that no more. I ain’t no fuckin whore.”

Somehow, the slap takes Dick utterly by surprise. He jumps at the sharp crack of Bruce’s hand meeting Jason’s cheek. Jason’s head whips back and his hands start to lift on an instinctive reaction to cover his face but Bruce grips his arms in a punishing hold before they can reach it. Then he uses the grip to toss Jason bodily back onto the bed. The kid bounces from the force of it, letting out a frightened little squeal, then Bruce is on top of him, naked flesh blanketing over Jason and pinning him to the mattress.

Dick feels sick. What the fuck is this? If this is a training session, it went way too far about three minutes ago. If this isn’t, then what the fuck is it? What the hell is Bruce doing and why has he sent this to Dick?

It’s not real, Dick tells himself, as the Bruce on the screen forces Jason’s skinny, flailing arms above his head. It’s doctored, it’s fake, Dick’s brain chants as Bruce grasps both of Jason’s wrists in one big hand and runs the other down the length of the kid’s body until he reaches those ratty boxers. Bruce would never do this. This...this doesn’t make sense.

Dick should turn the video off. There is no context that can make any of this alright. The video is clearly fake and there’s no reason for Dick to torture himself watching it, but for some reason, Dick can’t force himself to reach forward and turn it off. He feels frozen. As if he’s glued to his seat. He can’t move. He can’t look away.

“Stop!” Jason shrieks from the screen as Bruce drags his boxers down over his skinny legs. Jason kicks them as best he can but Bruce is larger and stronger than him, laying over him and trapping him against the bed. Jason looks so small beneath his bulk. “Don’t touch me! Get off!”

Bruce ignores him.

With the way they’re both lying, it’s difficult to see exactly what Bruce’s hand is doing when he presses it between them but it’s not hard to guess from the awful, pained choking sound Jason makes and the flex of Bruce’s muscled forearm. And Dick can clearly see when Bruce leans over and presses their mouths together. He sees the way Jason’s eyes squeeze shut, the silver trickle of a tear as it slides over the kid’s temple and disappears into his curls. He sees the wet flash of tongue as Bruce forces himself into Jason’s mouth. Sees the way their lips move as Bruce kisses him.

Jason sobs when Bruce finally pulls back to pepper little kisses across his face and neck and Dick feels dizzy. Bruce’s hand is still between them, Jason’s wrists still trapped in an iron grip above his head. And it’s wrong. It’s sick.

It’s not real, Dick tells himself, again, but it doesn’t quell the urge to scream that’s building in Dick’s chest or the bile that’s licking at the back of his throat. Because that’s Dick’s little brother. It’s Dick’s kid brother on the screen being...being _molested_. Someone had decided to take sweet, innocent little Jay and subject him to _this_. To something so horrific and unforgivable. Someone had decided that the best use of their time was to create some sick incest rape video with _Dick’s family_ to...what? Get their jollies off to?

The thought almost snaps the thin control Dick still has over the acid churning in his stomach. As if everything still playing across the screen isn’t bad enough.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Bruce murmurs, between kisses and Dick should turn it off. He needs to turn it off. “It will only hurt a little. I’ll make you feel good, baby, I promise.”

Jason only sobs louder. “Please, B,” he begs, his voice small and wet and _heartbreaking_. “Please don’t do this. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll do anything. Anything else.”

Bruce shifts over him and, for a moment, Dick thinks he might be about to get up. To tell Jason that this is all an elaborate training session and he’s taken it way too far but it’s okay now. He would never actually hurt Jason like that at all.

That doesn’t happen, of course. Instead, Bruce just pushes himself between Jason’s skinny legs, settling himself more fully over him, shifting the hand not gripping Jason’s wrists to the jut of the boy’s hip. Jason trembles, tears streaming over his cheeks in hot rivulets, terrified little whimpers falling out of his kiss-swollen mouth.

“This is all I want,” Bruce murmurs before pressing his lips to Jason’s throat.

Dick slams his eyes shut, but that doesn’t block out the agonised scream that tears through his laptop speakers. It’s the worst sound Dick’s ever heard. It spears through him like a knife - something rusty and serrated, causing as much damage as possible as it cleaves through his flesh. And it’s _not real_ but Dick knows it will haunt him for the rest of his life. He’ll never be able to forget that sound. He’ll never be able to forget that it belonged to his little brother.

Finally, Dick unfreezes enough to lurch forward and slam the laptop shut. He won’t be opening it again. Not to play this video. He doesn’t need to see any more. He doesn’t need to know what else happens - whatever the sick fuck who created this video had wanted to get off to.

Dick presses his hands hard over his face and just breathes, shakily. He made a mistake, watching that video. Now he’ll never be able to unsee it. He’ll always have the image of his mentor - his father - forcing himself on Dick’s little brother, utterly uncaring of Jason’s fear and pain and fractured innocence. Even if it isn’t real - and it isn’t, of course it isn’t, how can Dick doubt that? - the image is branded across his brain.

One breath, two breaths. Bruce’s hand pressing between him and Jason’s little body. Bruce’s mouth on the kid and the sound of his pain and -

Dick only makes it to the sink in time to throw up into it because his apartment is so small. It hurts coming up, hot acid in his throat and mouth and nose, muscles contracting sharply to expel his meagre microwave dinner but Dick couldn’t choke it back if he tried. Just the thought of what’s waiting for him on the laptop behind him has him retching again.

Bruce sent him that. Why? To warn him about it? But then why not send a message with it? Why send it at all? Was he hacked? Is this some sort of sick test to see how he’ll react?

Before seeing the video, Dick might have accepted that as an answer. Now, knowing how utterly horrific it is, he can’t imagine even Bruce sending something like that willingly. So who sent it? Who created it?

Because Dick refuses to even acknowledge the possibility that it could be real. It _isn’t_. Bruce is a lot of bad things, but he isn’t _that_.

Dick needs to call him. He needs to figure this out before he drives himself crazy speculating.

Except, Dick’s phone starts ringing before he can even move to go get it. He staggers across the room to where it’s lying in the twisted blankets on Dick’s bed, fumbles for the phone with trembling hands. When he answers, he can hear his voice shaking.

“Tim?”

His brother sounds almost as bad as he does when he says, without preamble: “You’ve seen it?”

No need to ask what Tim’s talking about. “Yeah, fuck Tim, yeah I’ve just watched it. I...he sent it to you too?”

There’s a harsh exhalation on the other end of the line. “And a whole bunch of other people by the looks of it.” A slight pause. A shaky inhalation. “Look, can you make it to the cave? We need to talk. We need to - we need to figure something out.”

“Yeah,” Dick manages, already feeling slightly steadier, yet also, paradoxically, as if he’s floating somewhere far above his body. “I’ll be there in a few.”

⁂

Dick barely remembers the drive to the cave. His mind feels fuzzy and distant, as if he isn’t quite in his body. It’s shock, Dick knows. Who wouldn’t be shocked, after all? By something as horrific as that.

Bludhaven isn’t that far from Gotham but by the time Dick makes it to the cave, there’s already a small group of people gathered there. Tim must have called around - or maybe they called Tim. He’d said Bruce had sent it to a bunch of people after all. Dick sees Steph and Cass sitting together on the workout mats. Tim leaning heavily over the batcomputer desk, his eyes fixed on the screen. Superman, of all people, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room like a lightening rod, alone and exposed. Only Clark and Stephanie are in their uniforms. Dick is glad, because he hadn’t thought to put on his own.

“Dick,” Superman says, when Dick stumbles into the room. He sounds relieved, as if he expects Dick to figure this out, to somehow make everything that’s happened make sense.

“Clark? What are you doing here? Did you...did you get sent it too?”

Clark grimaces and the disgust and repulsion on his face is answer enough. If Bruce - or whoever is pretending to be Bruce - sent it to Clark, who else did it go to? Who else might have seen it?

The thought turns Dick’s stomach. Even if it isn’t _actually_ Jason in that video, it’s still a recording of his baby brother being - being raped. It’s still clearly Jason, young and naked and violated. The idea that anyone else has seen it does not sit well with Dick.

“We all got sent the video,” Tim answers. His voice is tight and clipped, whatever emotions he’s feeling right now hidden away. His face is very pale, though, and his eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. “Oracle is analysing it now.”

Dick’s instinctive reaction is horror at the idea that anyone else will have to watch that video - to look at it anymore closely than Dick had had to. There’s relief though, too. Because if Oracle is analysing it - that means that she thinks it might not be real. That means Tim thinks it isn’t real and it feels good to have his own desperate reassurances to himself echoed by someone else.

“Do you think she’ll find anything?”

Tim’s shoulders are stiff with tension. When he shrugs, it’s barely more than a twitch. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t...I don’t believe it’s real, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The relief expands in Dick’s chest. It doesn’t quite obliterate the cold horror that’s taken up residence behind Dick’s ribs but it helps, a little.

“You mean you don’t want it to be real.” The voice comes from right behind Dick and he startles, too frazzled to be aware of his surroundings the way he should be. He’d almost forgotten the girls were here.

Tim’s eyes flicker over Dick’s shoulder. The tension around his eyes deepens. “Steph,” he says, his voice strained.

“Don’t Steph me,” she says, sharply. She takes a shuddering breath. Then, softer, “Look, I get it. I might not always like Bruce or Jason but I get not wanting it to be real, OK?” And Dick is surprised by how ill Steph looks in that moment. “But there’s a video-“

“A video that could easily be faked,” Dick argues. His throat feels thick. He knows, somewhere deep down, that Steph could be right but his brain immediately rebels against it. Not Bruce. Not his - not Bruce.

“I’m just saying -“

“Well there’s not much point arguing about it before Oracle gets back to us,” Tim cuts in, before Steph can really launch into her argument. Dick is grateful for the reprieve. He doesn’t think he can handle what it means if the video _is_ real. He wants to put off that difficult thought for as long as possible.

Steph subsides with a scowl, but Dick can tell she’s grateful for the interruption too. A tense silence draws the air tight between them. In the harsh light of the cave, Tim looks pale and tense as he turns back to the batcomputer. Cassandra appears out of nowhere to drape herself over Steph’s back, murmuring something quietly in her ear, and Dick has to clench his fists hard at his sides and step back to quell his own sudden desire for comfort. Somehow he doubts Tim would appreciate him getting into his personal space in the same way.

As if Superman is reading his mind, a heavy hand drops onto Dick’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, offering Dick a thin smile.

“How much did you watch?” Dick asks, before he can stop himself, because somehow he doubts Superman would be smiling if he’d actually seen it. He doubts he’d be here in the cave rather than tracking Batman down himself.

The smile slips. Maybe Dick is wrong.

“Enough to see where it was going,” is what Superman says in a strained voice.

“And you didn’t go straight to B?” Then, realising that maybe he had, “Where is B?”

“On patrol with Robin.”

Dick doesn’t know what face he makes - doesn’t know why he makes a face in the first place because it’s _not real_ \- but Superman grimaces in response.

“I’d hear them,” he says quickly. “Now I know - I’d hear them.”

Somehow that does not make Dick feel any better. In fact, the thought makes him feel a little like he might throw up again.

“I came here to talk to you boys first. To try to understand if -”

“What about Alfred?” Dick cuts in, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. Not wanting Clark to ask it.

“He’s upstairs,” Tim says, without turning away from the computer. “He doesn’t - I don’t think he knows. If Bruce has sent it to him, I doubt he’ll have watched it and I didn’t know how to tell him.”

Dick’s heart hurts at the thought of telling Alfred - the closest thing Bruce has to a father, the person who Jason loves probably more than anyone and who loves him in return - about that video. He doesn’t blame Tim at all for not wanting to do it, although he’ll have to find out somehow. Eventually, he’ll know.

“Do you think we should -”

“Red Robin?”

The cave goes abruptly silent at the sound of Oracle’s voice echoing from the batcomputer. Even the bats above are still and quiet, only the slight rustle of wings indicating their presence, as if they are anticipating her answer as much as any of the others. 

“I’m here.”

The tense silence on the other end of the line cannot mean anything good. If Babs had found evidence that the video was fake, she would have come right out and said it. Dick knows that. Her hesitation is as good as an answer.

Dick’s chest feels like it’s been caved in - as if that silence were a blow - hollowed out. Suddenly, the air in the cave feels too thin. He can’t breathe.

“No,” he wheezes, before Babs can say it out loud. Before she can _break_ him. “No, it’s not -”

“I couldn’t find any evidence of forgery,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly calm. Dick can only hear the strain in it because he knows her so well. “If it is fake - it wasn’t generated or manipulated by any technology I know of.”

Someone makes a strangled sound. Dick thinks it might be him, but he can’t be sure. Superman’s grip on his shoulder is so tight that Dick knows he’ll bruise. He doesn’t care. Maybe Superman will break him and he won’t have to deal with this. He won’t have to face a reality where this exists.

“But it could be something else.” Tim, too, sounds calmer than he has any right to. “Magic or reality manipulation or -”

“For God’s sake Tim!” Steph shouts, suddenly, and - oh. At least someone sounds as out of control as Dick feels. “Do you hear yourself? You can wish it was fake all you like but _Bruce_ sent us that video. Of him - of him -”

She cuts herself off before she can say something awful like _molesting_ or _raping_ , with a noise like she might be sick.

“But why,” Tim asks, stiffly. “If it is real, why send it to us? Why expose himself like that?”

“It’s not real. Bruce wouldn’t - he wouldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t_.” It’s the only thing Dick can say. Tim’s right, there are still hundreds of ways to manipulate this. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.

“How many people have you heard say the same thing? How many people have refused to believe the victim?”

“Don’t,” Dick snaps. “That’s not the same thing at all. If Jason had told me -”

Except, Dick doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, because Jason hadn’t told him. Not during any of the time he’d been living with Bruce. Not after, when Jason had come back vengeful and furious, angry at Bruce and at Dick and at life. And why hadn’t he? Because it hadn’t happened? Or because he’d been too afraid?

It hurts to think about, but...the Jason in the video hadn’t been in any position to tell. He’d been young and hurt and scared, terrified that he’d be thrown back onto the streets if he didn’t do exactly what Bruce wanted. Dick hadn’t exactly been around to tell, either. At best, he’d been friendly but absent. At worst, he’d been downright cold.

Then, when Jason had come back, what opportunity had he had? Bruce had positioned him squarely on the side of the enemy from day one and Dick hadn’t exactly argued with that. Jason had been so angry, so different. He’d hated Bruce with a passion that had frightened Dick. He’d thought he’d known why. He’d thought, recently, that he’d been starting to understand his little brother better. But had Jason had a different reason to hate their shared father-figure this whole time? Had some of that anger come from this?

It’s not something Dick particularly wants to think about - because thinking about it means also thinking that this might be _real_. That Bruce - Dick’s mentor, Dick’s...father - is a child molester. That he’d raped and abused Dick’s little brother and made Jason too afraid or too ashamed to say anything. The thought lodges in Dick’s throat and threatens to choke him.

The Bruce Dick knows would never do that, would he?

“Then why don’t we ask him?” Superman asks. His hand is still gripping Dick’s shoulder painfully tight but Dick doesn’t shake him off.

“Jason?” Dick feels his shoulder twitch beneath Superman’s hand. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea to spring this on him. Whether it’s real or not, it’s only going to upset him.”

“We can’t keep it from him,” Tim says.

“I know. I know. But -“

“What about you?”

The words come out in a rush, as if Superman hadn’t actually intended to say them. The hand on Dick’s shoulder drops back to his side. Dick follows the movement, watching as Clark’s fingers flex into a fist before relaxing.

“What?” he asks, a little whiplashed.

“I mean,” Superman starts, a lot slower this time, “we should ask Jason but...what about you? Did Batman ever - did Bruce…?”

He looks deeply uncomfortable, as if he would rather be asking anything else. It takes Dick a moment to process the question. Once he does, he instinctively recoils.

“No. No, he would never.”

He says it without thinking. It’s a gut reaction because Bruce hasn’t. He _wouldn’t_ and just the thought of it has Dick’s skin crawling with repulsion. Bruce is his dad. He would never do something like that to him.

Only, if the video is right, he clearly has. Not to Dick, maybe, but to one of his sons. To a helpless little boy that needed him, that relied on him, that _loved_ him, maybe, once. And if he’d done it to Jason, why not Dick? Dick had been as young and impressionable once - as helpless and reliant and easily controlled.

Except, Jason was different - from both Dick and Tim. His home life had never been good or stable. When Bruce had taken him in, it had been from the streets. There had been no one to fall back on like there had been for Tim, no loving family background like there had been for Dick. As much as it makes Dick sick to think it, Jason was exactly the sort of child that would be easy to abuse, easy to manipulate and easy to keep silent. Just because Bruce had never touched Dick - and he hadn’t, Dick is sure he hadn’t - doesn’t mean he didn’t touch Jason.

“Are you sure?” Superman asks softly, so much concern in his voice that Dick feels his face heat. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it here, but if you need -”

“I’m sure,” Dick says with conviction. And saying it, he knows it’s true. “I’m not hiding anything. Bruce never touched me.”

Up by the batcomputer, Tim is frowning. It’s a thoughtful expression rather than an angry one, though, and Dick is sure that Tim is genuinely thinking about it. Wondering, perhaps, in the same way Dick had done, why Bruce might touch Jason and not him. Searching his memories for anything that seemed weird or off or wrong.

“Not that I remember,” he says. “But I don’t remember seeing anything weird between Batman and Robin either.”

“Bruce is not bad,” Cass says, suddenly. She’s still half-draped over Steph, although Dick thinks it’s not just for the other girl’s comfort. It’s always harder to read emotions off of Cass, after years of being taught to hide them. “I would see. I would know.”

If anything, that just makes Superman look even more uncomfortable. “Not necessarily. I know you’re good at reading people, Black Bat, but this is Bruce we’re talking about. If anyone would be able to hide something like this, it would be him.”

It’s an uncomfortable truth to be confronted with. Because Clark is right. Dick wouldn’t put it past Bruce to be able to hide something like this and the thought is cold and hard in Dick’s chest. Had he ever really known Bruce? If the video is real, then no, Dick doesn’t think he had.

“You think he did it.” The words are soft enough that only Superman will be able to really hear them, although that wasn’t Dick’s intention. He doesn’t think he can say them any louder though. He doesn’t like the idea of making them real.

“No,” Superman says, just as soft. “I don’t want to believe it, but the video -“

He stiffens, his eyes getting the faraway look they sometimes do when he’s listening to something happening somewhere else. The cave goes silent again while he listens.

“Batman is heading back.” Superman’s eyes refocus and his face is vaguely panicked. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Tim’s eyes narrow. He starts to move towards them, then hesitates. “What are we going to do?”

“We can’t just ignore this,” Steph says. “ _Bruce_ sent us the video. He’ll know we’ve seen it.”

“And we don’t know who else he’s sent it too,” Clark adds, looking stressed. “If he’s sent it to other league members, they won’t ignore this, either. They’ll want to see him punished.”

If the video is true, Dick wants to see Bruce punished too. But if it isn’t… There’s a hot knot forming in Dick’s stomach, a war inside his chest between hot fury, cold horror, and numb disbelief. He doesn’t want it to be real. But when he confronts himself with the fact that it might be, his fury roars up his throat and chokes him.

“But why would he send it to the league?” Tim asks. “Why would he send it to us? Knowing it incriminates him?”

It’s something that Dick is wondering too. If it’s real, why would Bruce send it to them? Why reveal himself? And now, years after the abuse had occurred, after Jason’s death and resurrection? When Jason so clearly hasn’t said anything?

There’s only one reason Dick can think of and, depressingly, it’s painfully Bruce. “Maybe he wants to be punished? He wants us to catch him?”

“Or maybe he’s trying to punish Jason?”

When Dick turns to look at her in surprise, Steph just shrugs. There’s a dark scowl marring her face and a green tinge to her cheeks.

“Maybe he’s been holding it over his head the whole time, trying to control him. Maybe he didn’t ever actually mean to send it.”

The words sink a heavy, uncomfortable stone into Dick’s gut. The thought of Bruce using this against Jason - not just hurting him, but using it to _keep_ hurting him - makes his throat burn with bile.

“We don’t know that,” Dick squeaks out. “We don’t even know if-“

The roar of an engine cuts him off and, impossibly, Dick’s stomach drops further. Because that’s the Batmobile pulling into the cave. It’s Bruce.

And now Dick is going to have to face him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read/kudos/commented/bookmarked the first chapter! I really appreciate it!
> 
> As always, please heed the tags. There is a short section in this chapter where Bruce watches a bit of the video. It is not as long or graphic as the scene from the first chapter, but please be careful if this is likely to upset you!

Batman knows something is wrong as soon as he pulls into the cave. Beside him, Robin tenses, clearly seeing the same situation and coming to just as bad a conclusion.

Patrol had been quiet. Two robberies and a mugging and not much else. Tim had offered to man the comms but in the end they hadn’t needed him. It had been such an easy night that Bruce had called it in early, anticipating an opportunity to get ahead on some of the case files he’s been neglecting. As far as Bruce is aware, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has happened all night. So there’s no reason for there to be a group of people clustered around the batcomputer.

He pulls the batmobile smoothly into its parking space and steps out, ignoring the queasy twisting of his gut. If it were urgent, Bruce tells himself, someone would have raised him on the comms. If something terrible has happened, his children know how to reach him. They wouldn’t have left him and Damian out of the loop.

But something terrible happening is the only reason Bruce can think of as to why Dick, Tim, Steph, Cass, and _Superman_ are standing in his cave in various states of uniform, looking pale and grim and unhappy.

_Superman_? Despite his reassurances to himself, Bruce’s heart rate ratchets up a notch. Clark knows his no metas in Gotham rule. Usually, he manages to adhere to it.

Batman takes stock of the rest of the room. No Alfred in sight. No evidence of any injuries, either, as far as he can tell at just a glance. The medbay is clean and clearly untouched. Bruce can’t see the screen of the computer from this angle, but only Tim is close enough to reach it. There are no files spread across the desk. Nothing to indicate any reason for this impromptu gathering to be occurring.

They all watch as he and Robin approach. Damian sticks close to Batman’s side in an unusually shy gesture, but Bruce can’t blame him. The weight of their gazes feel heavy against his skin. None of them look happy to see him - there’s no relief in any of their postures, if anything, the tension only seems to increase as Bruce gets closer to the huddle. 

Something is definitely wrong. Bruce’s stomach gives another alarmed lurch. 

“You aren’t supposed to be in Gotham, Superman,” he grunts, falling back on the rules because he doesn’t know what else to say. It makes him feel a little better, too, as if he has a little more control over the situation.

Clark gives him a startled look. Then his face creases into an uneasy grimace and he turns to shoot Dick an expression that Bruce can’t quite read.

“I-“

“It’s an emergency,” Dick interrupts. He isn’t looking at Bruce, his eyes fixed on Damian. He looks ill. “We need him here.”

Bruce’s heart makes a valiant attempt at stopping. He’s glad, in that moment, that he hasn’t yet taken off his cowl. Who knows what his face looks like?

“An emergency? I wasn’t informed.”

Everyone’s okay, he tells himself. His pulse throbs hard beneath his jaw, a sick, throaty beat. If they weren’t, Dick would have told him. He would have opened with that.

Dick ignores him. “Robin, come here.”

Bruce feels Damian hesitate but he pulls away and stalks towards the batcomputer without complaint. When he reaches Dick, the older boy pulls him close with a possessive hand on his shoulder. Damian looks up at him with a frown.

“Where’s your phone?”

“My phone? Grayson, I demand you tell me what this is about.”

Dick’s hand tightens on the kid’s shoulder. His eyes flicker to Bruce and narrow, his mouth pulling into an unhappy frown. “Is it in your locker?”

“Yes,” Damian snaps. “But I don’t see how that is relevant to this situation.”

The anger is a cover, Bruce knows, for his anxiety. Because Damian rarely likes being out of the loop and right now, he and Bruce are about as far outside of it as they can get. The thought makes Bruce’s skin prickle. Dick is acting...strange and no one else seems to be concerned about it. If anything, the other vigilantes seem more worried about Damian. 

Dick’s face twitches. Something flickers across it, so quickly that it’s difficult to tell exactly what it is - anger, maybe, or disgust. “Cassie?”

Cassandra slips out from behind him, padding over to the lockers without a word. Damian follows the movement but doesn’t stop her - although whether that’s because it’s Cass or because of Dick’s hand still on his shoulder, Bruce can’t tell. It doesn’t take long for her to open the locker or access Damian’s phone, despite the Bat-tech lock codes on both and Damian’s spluttering protests. She taps at the screen for a few minutes, frowning, before bringing it back over to where Dick and Damian are standing.

“What did you do to it?” Damian asks, suspiciously. He takes the offered phone though, clutching it in one hand but not looking at it.

“Nothing,” Cass says. Clearly she’s lying. Bruce doesn’t have to be the World’s Greatest Detective to know that.

The feeling of unease in his gut is only growing stronger by the second. This is more than something terrible happening. _Something_ has happened but Bruce has no idea what. It’s not just Dick acting strangely, it’s Bruce’s whole family, his friend.

He steps forward and doesn’t miss the way Cassandra tenses or the way Dick’s arm flexes as if he wants to pull Damian closer - further away from Bruce.

“I don’t appreciate being left in the dark. If there’s an emergency I should have been contacted immediately.”

“Bruce,” Clark reprimands and he shifts as he says it, pushing between Bruce and his children in the same oddly protective manner as Dick had pulled Damian close. As if they feel that _Bruce_ is somehow a threat.

Goosebumps prickle across his skin at the thought. The urge to reach up and rub at his arms like a child surges over him, despite having trained out those sort of reflexes a long time ago. “ _Superman,_ ” he snaps in return, falling back on anger in much the same way Damian had. 

“Don’t, B,” Dick interrupts before he can even really get started. His voice is icy. It sounds wrong coming from Dick, who has always been fiery when angry with Bruce, loud and passionate. “Just don’t. Damian, go upstairs, we need to talk to B.”

Of course, Damian bristles at that. “I will not be sent upstairs like a child! Whatever you mean to say, you can do so in my presence.” 

“Go. Up. Stairs.”

Bruce has never heard Dick snarl like that before - not at Damian. He’s never heard him even raise his voice at the boy. Sure, he’s had Dick wield that tone at him before. But he’s always been gentle with Damian, even when angry.

The startled silence that follows the words tells Bruce he isn’t the only one surprised. Damian steps back a little before the hand on his shoulder stops him. Then his face crumples in anger. He shrugs out of his older brother’s hold. Dances away when Dick reaches for him again. Then turns and storms out of the cave without another word.

Bruce’s chest hurts. “Was that really necessary?” 

Something changes in Dick’s posture. He had been tense before, but now it’s as if he’s been carved out of stone. His eyes narrow to furious slits. Then he stalks towards Bruce like an angry cat.

Clark makes a grab at Dick’s arm as he passes but Dick snatches it away before his fingers can close around flesh. 

“Dick -“

“No. How dare he.” Then, turning to Bruce. “How dare you.”

In the face of that dark, ugly expression, all Bruce can do is raise his hands in helpless surrender. “I’m not sure what -“

The blow knocks the words right back down his throat. Takes him utterly by surprise. Dick doesn’t have the same raw power as Batman does but the strength behind his punch is enough to send Bruce stumbling backwards. The pain takes a moment to come but the shock is sharp and sudden. It’s pure training that keeps him on his feet and stops him automatically cupping his face. It’s pure shock that keeps him from immediately retaliating.

It doesn’t take long for him to recover. It can’t, not when quick reaction times mean the difference between life and death on a daily basis.

“Hey, Rube,” he says, in stilted Romani, repeating the same phrase he and Dick have used a hundred times before. Dick isn’t acting like himself and this is the only thing Bruce can think of. “Nellie the elephant has gotten loose.”

Something agonised flits across Dick’s face. “Zitka’s in the big top,” he replies, in slightly smoother Romani, and his voice shakes. “She hasn’t packed her trunk yet.”

Tentative relief tries to bloom in Bruce’s chest at the correct answer, but it’s immediately crushed by the tight squeeze of his ribs. It’s not the first time he and Dick have come to blows. It’s not the first time Dick has hit him outside of a training scenario at all, but Bruce has always known _why_. As much as he might not necessarily agree with it, there’s always been a reason behind Dick’s anger. If there is a reason now, Bruce doesn’t know it.

“What the hell was that, then?” he asks in genuine confusion.

Dick’s face twitches through another complicated series of expressions before he snarls and Bruce steps back, afraid that Dick might hit him again and not wanting to get into an actual fight when he has no idea what’s causing this reaction in his son. Dick starts to follow him, but Clark loops an arm around his chest and pulls him back. No one else in the room moves to intervene. Over Dick’s shoulder, Cassandra is watching with calculating eyes, but her gaze is on Bruce rather than Dick. She doesn’t seem surprised by her brother’s behaviour. Neither does Tim, who hadn’t even flinched at the sudden violence.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on,” Dick snarls, straining against Clark’s arm. “You sent that video, B. _You_ fucking sent it.”

Bruce wonders if his expression looks as dumb as he feels. He still has the cowl on, so at least they can’t see the blankness behind it. Video? Bruce hadn’t sent a video. He doesn’t have to pretend not to know what Dick is talking about. He honestly has no idea.

“He doesn’t know,” Cassandra says, softly, as if she’s reading his mind. Honestly, with Cassandra it sometimes feels as though she is.

“Or he wants you to think he doesn’t,” Stephanie snaps. 

Bruce is a little surprised to see her here. And not particularly in a good way. “I think someone should explain the situation to me whether you think I know or not,” he says and is impressed by the level of his voice. He sounds in control even if he doesn’t feel it.

It’s Tim who speaks up then. There’s less anger in his voice than in Dick’s, but the words are clipped and carefully even. “Just before you went on patrol this evening, you sent a video. To us and possibly others. The video shows you...uh...it shows…”

A sick expression twists across Tim’s face. He swallows convulsively, as if he’s fighting to get the words out and failing. Something tightens in Bruce’s gut in response. Whatever the video shows, it can’t be good. 

Except, Bruce hadn’t sent a video out. Whatever Tim is talking about, it hadn’t come from him.

Clark takes pity on Tim’s stuttering. His arm is still slung over Dick, although it no longer seems as though he’s holding him back. When he turns to face Bruce, he looks more pained than angry. “The video shows you abusing Jason, Bruce.”

The world goes still and muffled. Bruce blinks, feeling his lashes rasp against the lenses of his cowl. Abusing? Someone had sent out a video of Bruce _abusing_ Jason? From his account?

Acid pools at the back of his mouth. What does that mean? Bruce and Jason...they’ve both been working hard on their relationship. Bruce has been trying to reign in his temper, his grief, trying to understand Jason as he is now rather than the child Bruce had lost. Jason has been trying too, Bruce knows, using non-lethal weapons and keeping communication open.

But it hasn’t always been that way. When Jason first came back to him, Bruce had been too blinded by his grief, too hurt and angry, to appreciate the gift he’d been given. He’d hurt Jason. He knows he had. More than he can ever truly be forgiven for. Even before that, Bruce knows that being Robin hadn’t always been good for Jason. There are so many ways that Bruce has failed him.

Had someone filmed one of their fights? Are they using it as some sort of blackmail against him? Or against Jason?

“You feel guilty,” Cass whispers. 

Guilty? That uncomfortable warmth in his chest probably is guilt. Bruce deserves to feel guilty, he knows.

“Fuck.” 

The shout startles Bruce, loud and sudden and heartfelt. Dick throws one hand up and clutches at his hair, his head rocking forward into his palm. Beside him, Clark looks just as startled and he shifts his grip to hold Dick a little tighter. Dick shrugs him off, pulling away to pace to where Tim is standing by the computer then back again.

“ _Fuck._ I can’t believe this.”

It’s a strangely intense reaction. Bruce doesn’t blame Dick for being angry with him. Depending upon what is on that video, Bruce knows he probably deserves their hatred. But they’re all part of the vigilante life, they all know how badly people can get hurt, sometimes. Something about Dick’s reaction seems exaggerated. Out of place.

“I didn’t send that video,” Bruce says, stiffly. “Show it to me.”

Steph makes a choking, scoffing sound. “No way,” she snaps. “What? So you can fucking get off on watching it again?”

Get off? Bruce feels cold. Is that what they think? They think he _enjoys_ hurting Jason? They think he _wants_ to watch a video of himself abusing his son?

“Show me the video.”

“Fine,” Tim says. He turns back to the batcomputer, tapping at the keyboard to bring something up on the screen before turning expectantly to Bruce.

Still, Bruce hesitates for a moment before stepping forward. Dick glares as he passes and Bruce can feel the weight of his eyes on the back of his neck like a physical thing. Feeling suddenly suffocated, he drags his cowl back off his head. It’s too warm in the cave with all these bodies. All these eyes on him. It feels too hard to breathe.

“Here,” Tim says, soft enough it’s almost a whisper. “You don’t - you don’t need to see it all. But here…”

Then he presses a button on the keyboard and the video blooms into life on the screen.

The cave is immediately filled with the sound of sobbing. It’s a young boy’s sobs, ragged and full of pain, the sort of sound you might hear from children who are suffering something terrible. The noise sucks the air right out of Bruce’s lungs. He never likes to hear someone in that much pain. Especially not someone so young.

But it’s more than that. It’s worse than just the sound of a child hurting. Because those sobs are coming from Jason. Even if Clark hadn’t told him who was on that video, Bruce would have recognised him - despite the fact that the Jason on the screen is mostly obscured by Bruce’s bulk. Because Bruce is on top of him, the naked skin of his back shielding most of Jason from view. Muscles moving under pale skin as he thrusts into the tiny body beneath him.

The world tilts on its axis. Everything feels as if it’s suddenly spinning, sliding past Bruce faster than he can grasp it, slipping through his fingers like sand, like water, too slick and ephemeral to catch. He thinks he might fall, except every muscle in his body is locked too tight to move. Bile surges up his throat and threatens to choke him. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

On the screen, he keeps moving. Jason keeps crying, sharp, staccato sounds of agony. And it’s Bruce that’s hurting him. It’s Bruce that’s spearing those noises out of him with every rough thrust of his hips. It’s Bruce who’s moans are filling the room in low counterpoint, ugly in their pleasure.

_Bruce_ is raping him. _Raping_ Jason. His son. His _child_. The Jason on the screen can’t be older than thirteen and Bruce is on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, thrusting against him without a care for the agonised sobs or the way Jason is struggling against his hold.

It doesn’t make any sense. Bruce doesn’t understand it. He can’t… He _can’t_....

There’s a blur of motion and suddenly the video is gone, the screen dark and those awful, sickening sounds cut off as abruptly as they had come. In the silence, Bruce can hear the roar of his own pulse in his ears and the ragged heave of each breath as he struggles to drag air into his cramping lungs. Distantly, he can hear someone sniffling and someone else cursing low under their breath. But right now, Bruce doesn’t have the capacity to care about anyone else. All he can think about is Jason.

How can that video exist? It’s not - it’s not possible. Sure, Bruce knows that he has memories missing - sometimes enormous stretches of time, just non-existent - taken from him by grief and trauma. After his parents...after the alley, Bruce had lost huge chunks of his life. After Jason, he’d lost even more. The years following Jason’s death are sometimes blurry and hard to make out. Sometimes there’s nothing but blank space, just static where he knows there should be thoughts and feelings and _events_. But Bruce hadn’t really been living then. For those first long months after he had lost his son, Bruce hadn’t been a person, not truly. The things he had done then are lost to time.

But that doesn’t explain this. Even at his lowest - even at his _worst_ \- Bruce would never have done this. There’s no way on Earth that Bruce could ever touch a child. None. And Jason wasn’t just any child. He was Bruce’s son. Bruce’s _life_. Whoever it is on that video, it isn’t Bruce.

Which begs the question - who is it? How does that video exist and how has Bruce just watched it? On his computer, in his cave, his family standing around him in tense, disgusted silence?

There are plenty of shapeshifters in the world, Bruce knows. He’s worked with enough of them, fought even more. There are people out there who could easily have taken the shape of Bruce Wayne. But there aren’t very many who could get past his security system and do this. And why? Why this? Why him? What benefit would a shape-shifting villain have in filming Bruce Wayne raping his adopted son? Blackmail, maybe? But then why wait to use it til now? Why target Jason as a child but wait so many years to reap the benefit?

The questions flicker through Bruce’s head but fail to really take hold. Too much space is taken up by blank horror for him to really process them. Because, if this video is true, his son had been raped. _Molested_. Jason had been attacked so brutally by someone he had thought was Bruce and hadn’t said anything - to anyone. Bruce hadn’t known.

Had there been signs that Bruce had missed? Something to warn him that something was wrong? That Jason was hurting and afraid? If there were, Bruce doesn’t remember them. Even now, he can’t remember Jason ever seeming unreasonably afraid of him. Sure, he’d shied away from Bruce’s touch in the early days, he’d been understandably wary of Bruce’s intentions and quick to set boundaries. Back then, Bruce had attributed it to Jason’s past - his unsavoury life on the streets that even now sets Bruce’s blood boiling to think of - but had there been something more to it? Had someone attacked his son in the guise of Bruce Wayne and Bruce hadn’t even fucking noticed it?

The thought makes him feel faint. It makes him feel _furious_. As if everything that has happened to Jason already isn't bad enough. The thought that someone might have used Bruce to abuse him so terribly is unthinkable.

Perhaps the video is fake. Perhaps this isn’t real. There could be a hundred other explanations for what Bruce has just seen. Explanations that mean this isn’t a reality.

“What?” Bruce croaks, blinking rapidly against the terrible after-image burned into his retinas. Whatever the explanation for this, Bruce will never be able to get that image out of his head. The sight of his son, small and vulnerable and _hurting_ underneath him will be branded onto his brain for the rest of his Goddamn life.

“What was that?”

In front of him, Superman grimaces. His hand is still resting against the keyboard where he had clearly switched the video off. Was he reacting to Bruce’s horror or his own? Or maybe it was Dick or Tim’s reaction that had driven him to the computer. He can feel them all standing around him. Their disgust and repulsion is practically tangible in the air.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Steph says into the horrified silence. Her voice is thick, as if maybe she’s been swallowing back tears. “You sent it to us after all.”

Of course. Bruce had apparently sent this video to them all, he remembers, with a queasy shock. Have they all watched it? Do they think it’s him on that screen, hurting Jason so terribly? It would explain Dick’s anger. It would explain the punch and Steph’s fury and Tim’s cold disgust.

Bruce stares at her. “I didn’t,” is all he can say, desperately, “I wouldn’t. You can’t honestly think -”

“Oracle has analysed it,” Tim interrupts, voice considerably less steady than it had been before he’d played that hateful video. “It’s real, as far as she can tell.”

The words feel like a knife. Bruce’s throat aches. It can’t be real. It can’t. Because Bruce knows it isn’t him on that video. But even if it isn’t, it might be Jason. If that video is real, it means confronting the reality that someone might have done this to his _son_. That it might be _real_ for Jason, and Bruce doesn’t want to accept that so easily. Not when there are still other explanations.

“What about magic?” he asks, aware that he’s slipped into the same Batman-command voice as he uses when pointing out mistakes they’ve made in training but unable to stop it. “What about alternate universes, or reality manipulation, or shape-”

“Stop it,” Dick shouts and Bruce falls abruptly silent. “Stop fucking making excuses. It’s right there on the video! You…” A sound like a sob. “You _raped_ him.”

Somehow, that’s worse than the punch. It’s worse than any injury Bruce has ever gotten because Dick knows him better than probably anyone else and yet, he thinks Bruce is capable of this. He thinks Bruce could touch his son.

“How could you say that?” he manages, through a throat that feels too thick to breathe. “Dick, how could you think that? I would _never_ -”

He has to stop. Has to breathe through the sudden urge to scream that’s rising in his chest. Dick just looks at him, his eyes shiny with tears and something like betrayal.

“I don’t know, B. Did I ever know you? Really? Did any of us? I knew Batman, maybe. But Bruce…?”

That hurts more than Bruce would expect. Whatever their fallings-out in the past, Dick is still Bruce’s son, his first child. To hear that...it’s painful.

“Dick, please.” He needs to stay calm. Getting angry is only going to make this situation worse but something sick and furious is hollowing out his chest, creeping behind his ribs. “I know my word doesn’t mean much in this situation, but have I ever given you reason to believe something like this?”

Dick drops his gaze and Bruce can tell that he wants to believe him, that this is hurting his son. Of course it is. In what world is something like this not painful? Not horrific? 

“Listen, we need to contact Jason. We need to understand where this has come from and how it managed to be sent from my secure account. We -“

“If you think you’re going to get anywhere near Jason, you’re fucking crazy,” Steph snaps. The thickness in her voice has evolved into actual tears now, streaking in angry furrows across her face.

“I don’t -”

“Bruce.” It’s Clark. He steps forward, reaching out to grip Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce would shake it off, but he suspects the hold is not for his own reassurance. “I don’t want to make a judgement but you need to step down here. You...I think I need to take you in.”

Bruce’s heart thuds against his ribs. It’s not like he was expecting anything else. In all honesty, if Superman hadn’t taken him in, Bruce would have been disappointed in his friend. Bruce knows that he’s innocent but he also knows that his family and friends don’t. If this were somehow reversed - if the video had shown Clark or Dick as the abuser - Bruce hopes that he would do what was right for their victim. Jason is the priority.

Still, it chafes to be accused of something so heinous. It hurts, knowing that even if they don’t want to, his friends and family can believe that he would be capable of something like this. 

Almost worse than that, though, is the knowledge that he won’t be allowed to work on this case. He isn't going to be able to run scans on the video. He won’t be able to question Jason or contact Zatanna or enlist Martian Manhunter. If his son was hurt - was _raped_ \- by some monster wearing Bruce’s face, then he knows it’s better for him not to be involved, but he’s never liked feeling useless.

It’s like an itch under his skin, the need to act, the need to _know_. Still, this time he’ll have to trust in the others to figure out where that hateful video has come from. Bruce knows when not to push his luck.

“I understand,” he says. And he does. As much as he might hate it, he does understand. There isn’t anything else to be done. Not while Bruce is still a suspect. “I won’t fight you on it.”

Clark offers him a strained smile that Bruce does not return. The grip on his arm is tight enough to bruise.

“Come with me to the WatchTower, Bruce.”

Bruce nods, allowing Clark to steer him towards where the zeta tube is hidden. He feels too numb to do anything else. Sick and cold. The image of Jason crying under him is still crowding in his head.

“Find the source of the video,” he throws over his shoulder before Clark pulls him out of view. “Please, Dick.”

Dick just stares at him. His eyes are very bright. Beside him, Cass leans her head onto his shoulder in a gesture of comfort that makes Bruce’s chest hurt. Bruce feels their gazes on him all the way up until Clark pulls them both out of sight.

Even if Bruce manages to clear his name - even if they figure out exactly where that video came from and who created it - he knows his relationship with his kids will never be exactly the same. He doesn’t see how they can recover from this.

He doesn’t think that they can.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the amazing comments, kudos and bookmarks. The response to this fic has really been so lovely! I really don't have an excuse for how long this has taken - I hope this chapter can make up for it at least a little! :)

Dick presses a shaking hand hard against his face and tries to breathe through the tightness of his chest. Seeing Bruce had been more...difficult than he’d been anticipating. Some part of him had hoped that when he finally confronted Bruce he’d _know_. That just looking at his mentor’s face would tell him that the video wasn’t real and Bruce would _never_ do that and the whole thing has just been some terrible misunderstanding.

But seeing Bruce had only made things murkier in Dick’s mind. Because, on the one hand, Bruce had been _Bruce_. When he’d stepped out of the Batmobile, it had been exactly the same Batman as the one Dick had last seen a few days ago. When he’d pulled off the cowl, it had been the same face that had looked at Dick with such kindness the night of his parents’ deaths, the same face that had watched over him whenever he was sick or had a nightmare or just when Dick had wanted some company.

On the other hand, it was also the face Dick had seen on his laptop screen, abusing his baby brother so disgustingly.

The disconnect had made Dick feel nauseated. His anger had been a heavy rock in his stomach. He’s been angry at Bruce plenty of times before. Furious, even. But he’s never been so sick with it. His rage has never been so cold.

He’s still shaking with it. With the adrenaline of confronting Bruce and the echo of Jason’s sobs ringing in his ears. He feels like he might collapse at the faintest breeze, like the hand pressed over his eyes is the only thing holding him together. All he can think about is Bruce’s face - that mild, inoffensive, familiar face - and how it had looked as Bruce had sucked hickeys into Jason’s neck. How he’d sounded as he’d groaned in pleasure over Dick’s kid brother.

The urge to be sick that’s been simmering low in his gut ever since Bruce had first stripped himself of that robe hours before, flares into renewed life.

Someone touches his back. Dick thinks that maybe he should flinch at that, but years of being a vigilante have long ago trained that reflex out of him. Would Jason flinch, he wonders? Jason has never been particularly physical - never seemed to enjoy touch the way Dick does. Dick has never thought anything of it, because there are so many reasons why someone might not be as tactile as he is. Hell, it’s not as if any of the others are going around handing out free hugs either. But now, Dick can’t help but wonder if there’s a darker reason behind Jason’s touch aversion that Dick had foolishly missed. Has Jason been handling this alone for all these years? Hiding his trauma from Dick and Tim and even fucking Superman because he’s been too ashamed to tell anyone - too afraid that they would take Bruce’s side?

Shit, they need to call him. They need to talk to Jason before anything else. As much as this is going to hurt Dick’s brother, it isn’t fair to keep him in the dark. And what if Bruce had sent that video to Jason too? What if he’s already seen it and he’s alone and hurting and too afraid to reach out. What if - Dick allows himself to think, to hope - the video isn’t real and Jason sees it and has no idea what it means or where it’s come from?

“Dick,” Cass says, soft, and the hand on his back rubs lightly across his spine.

“I’m fine,” he manages. The words come out tight and mostly muffled against his palms. He drops his hands. Clears his throat to try to work some steadiness into his voice. “I’m fine,” he says again and is pleased that it sounds more believable this time.

“No,” Cass says. There’s no judgement in her voice but Dick shrugs her off anyway, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. “None of us are.”

Something about that just makes Dick feel even more uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter whether Dick is fine or not. What matters is Jason.

He tries to push his own unease down deep. If he just focuses on Jason, he won’t have to think about his own feelings on the matter. “Look, we need to contact Jason. We need - Jason is the one in that video. He’s the one we should be asking about this.”

“Sure,” Steph says, a sharp edge to her voice. “But we can’t exactly just call him up and ask if Bruce ever raped him.”

Despite himself, Dick flinches at the word. He sees Tim twitch too, where he’s still standing by the computer. The way Steph says it, hard and unflinching, makes it sound somehow worse. Dick hadn’t thought that was possible.

“Of course not,” he manages. “I’m not suggesting we should ask him over the comms. I just -”

“So what are you going to do? Try to convince him to come to the cave? Find whatever safehouse he’s using at the moment? Ambush him on patrol?”

“Steph,” Dick interrupts, not quite managing to hide the irritation in his voice. 

The problem is, she’s right. None of them are particularly good options - not for handling such a delicate topic. Not with Jason. He and Bruce have been getting along better recently, sure, and, yeah, he’s worked on some cases with Dick, but he still isn’t particularly keen on being in the cave, or even the manor. And if the video is true, the manor is where he was being _abused_. It’s not exactly conducive to a calm and respectful conversation about it.

But is ambushing him at his own safehouse or while he’s out on patrol any better? Technically, none of them are actually supposed to know the locations of any of his safehouses, and violating his private space - something Jason is extremely protective of - in order to potentially drag up painful memories of his childhood doesn’t exactly sound like a great idea. Maybe a neutral location whilst out on patrol - or even as civilians - would be a better idea, but Dick doesn’t particularly want to confront Jason about something like this whilst he might be armed to the teeth, and discussing something so private out in the open, where anyone might hear, doesn’t sit right with Dick either. 

None of the options are good. But then, nothing about this is going to be good or easy. Dick feels painfully out of his depth.

“What would you suggest then?” he asks, a little unfairly.

Steph scowls again but she clearly doesn’t have a better answer than Dick does. Dick sighs, pressing his fingers hard into the bridge of his nose to try to stave off the worst of the headache that’s taken root behind his eyes. This is going to suck either way. The best thing to do is get it over with - rip the bandaid off before anyone else has the chance to hurt Jason with it. Inviting Jason over to the cave is the best of a bunch of bad options.

“We’ll just have to get him to the cave. We don’t have time to figure out a better option. I don’t want Jason to find out about this from somebody else.”

Steph still looks tense and unhappy, but she doesn’t stop Dick from pulling out his phone and bringing up Jason’s number. She doesn’t argue either. She must know as well as Dick does that there aren’t any good options here.

Still, Dick isn’t expecting Jason to react well. He tries to will himself to calm down as he waits for his brother to pick up the phone. His heart is pounding so hard in his ears that he can barely hear the ring of the phone. He almost misses Jason answering.

“Why are you calling me, Dickie?”

Jason sounds annoyed, but only as annoyed as he ever is when fielding calls from any of the family. If he’s seen the video, Dick can’t tell. 

“Hey, Jay,” Dick starts, then stops to clear his throat again. His voice is steadier than it has been but Jason will be able to hear the little tremble in it. “I - uh - you need to come to the cave.”

“The cave?” Jason asks sharply. There’s rustling on the other end of the line. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”

Shit. Dick has managed to mess this up before he’s even really started. “No one’s hurt. We’re all - we’re all fine. I just need to talk to you.”

“Are you serious? I’m not coming all the way to the cave just to _chat_.”

“Please,” Dick blurts. “Please, Jay, just come to the cave. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

Something about the words - or maybe just the tone of his voice - must worry Jason, because he doesn’t put up much more of an argument. “Fine,” he snaps. “But if I get there and it’s just some bullshit case talk or something that we could have done over the phone, I’m never answering your calls again.”

Then he hangs up before Dick can get another word in.

Dick slumps. He feels sick and shaky and talking to Jason hasn’t helped matters at all. Any other time, the fact that Jason had agreed to come to the cave at Dick’s insistence, with hardly even an argument, would have made Dick giddy with joy. Now, knowing that he’s coming to the cave without any idea of the bomb Dick is going to drop on him - that Dick is going to have to ask him about everything they saw on that awful video - just makes him feel worse.

“He’s on his way,” he tells the others.

There’s a tense silence, then light footsteps as Tim finally makes his way over to where the three of them are standing in the centre of the cave. A hand touches Dick’s arm, so gently that he can barely feel it.

“What’s the plan?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” is all Dick can think of.

Because how is he supposed to ask his little brother whether their father had raped him? How is he supposed to let Jason know that his whole family has watched a video of exactly that happening? How is he supposed to even begin to broach the topic without upsetting him? He has no idea. Stupidly, he wishes Bruce were here to take the responsibility away from him - as if Bruce has ever been the best choice for handling delicate emotional matters, _especially_ with Jason. As if Bruce isn’t the whole problem here.

“No plan,” Cass says. “This shouldn’t be...rehearsed.”

Well, Dick doubts there’s much danger of that. Even with a hundred years to think about it, Dick doesn’t think he could ever find the right words. There aren’t any.

So they wait in silence until they finally hear the distant rumble of Jason’s bike, then the louder roar as it pulls into the cave. Jason must spot them immediately, but he takes his time parking, then setting his stand and pulling his helmet off. He isn’t wearing a domino underneath, so he clearly hadn’t started patrol yet. Something about that makes Dick feel a little better. It’s less likely that Jason has a gun on him, at least.

“What’s going on?” Jason calls, as he saunters over to where the rest of them are huddled.

As he nears, Cass pulls away, dragging Steph with her and Tim, too, steps back, until Dick is standing practically alone. It’s stupid to feel so exposed. It’s Jason who’s on the back foot, with no idea why Dick has called him here, in a place where they know he’s uncomfortable at best. But Dick can’t help the anxiety twisting his gut.

“Jay,” he manages weakly, in greeting.

Jason runs sharp eyes over Cass and Steph, then Tim, before finally settling on Dick. He stops just out of reach, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. “What’s going on? You said no one was hurt?”

“No,” Dick reassures, quickly, because he doesn’t want Jason to have to worry about any of them. “No, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah?” And the suspicion in his voice does _not_ hurt. It doesn’t. “Where’s the old man?”

Dick has no idea what his face does but Jason’s eyes widen in surprise, then concern. He does another obvious sweep of the room before narrowing on Dick again.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on, Dick, or did you seriously just call me here for a chitchat? Where’s Bruce?”

“Superman took him to the watchtower.” This, at least, Dick can manage to force out. His tongue feels thick and unwieldy in his mouth, his throat tight and hot. “He - uh - he -”

Jason watches him struggle for a minute before seemingly taking pity on him. “The watchtower?” he prompts. “Is there an alien invasion or something? Is that why you all have your panties in a twist?”

“No. Jay, listen I need to - to ask you something.”

Jason inclines his head in a _go on_ gesture. Around them, the others are silent, offering absolutely no help. Abruptly, Dick realises that he probably should have made them leave - that forcing Jason to talk about what might be a painful secret in the presence of most of his family is unnecessarily cruel. But Dick hadn’t been thinking about that. All he’d been thinking was that they’d seen that video too. That they’d want answers as much as Dick does. And it’s too late to ask them to go now.

Dick swallows hard. Takes a deep, shuddering breath, and forces himself to ask.

“Did Bruce...did he ever touch you?”

For a long moment, Jason just stares at him blankly. Dick’s heart punches beneath his jaw. If Jason confirms it, then… Well, Dick doesn’t actually know what he’ll do. It seems so impossible.

“What?” Jason says, eventually, sounding a little strangled. “Touch me? What are you talking about?”

Dick tries to keep the pity off his face, but he doesn’t think he succeeds. Jason scowls, the muscles of his arms flexing before he drops them to his sides.

“Jay…”

“You can’t be serious, Dick. You -” a breathless laugh, “you didn’t really ask me if _Bruce Wayne_ , what? _Molested_ me?”

Dick can’t stop his face from twitching. “Yeah, Jay,” he says, keeping his voice purposefully soft. “Yeah, I did. I get it if you don’t want to tell me, but -”

“But what? Bruce wouldn’t do that.” It’s said with such confidence, that Dick would entirely believe it, if it weren’t for the memory of Bruce doing exactly that still fresh as a bleeding wound in Dick’s mind. He can’t trust this. He can’t trust Jason to be honest about being hurt like this - not when it comes to Bruce. “Come on, Dick. You know he wouldn’t do that.”

Except, Dick doesn’t know. Before tonight, he would have been certain. Just the thought of Bruce hurting a child like that would have been laughable. Or, not laughable, exactly, because Dick doesn’t think he could ever laugh about something like this, but unbelievable. Now, though, now Dick has seen it with his own two eyes and even though he knows it could still be fake or manipulated or something else entirely, Dick can’t shake having _seen_ it. There’s something indisputable about such tangible evidence.

Something in Jason seems to shift at Dick’s hesitation. An edge of something like fear hardens his face.

“Why? Did something happen?” He looks deliberately around the room again and his expression gets a touch more frantic. “Where’s Damian?”

“No,” Dick snaps. 

It’s an automatic denial, but, now that he’s thinking about it, they never had asked Damian, had they? Sure, if Bruce hadn’t touched Dick or Tim, it isn’t likely he’s been abusing his own flesh and blood in the same way he might have abused Jason, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. And what had Dick done? Snapped at the poor kid. Sent him upstairs without a single question or explanation. What if Bruce _has_ hurt him? Horror threatens to choke Dick at just the thought. 

“No,” he manages again, in an attempt to reassure himself as much as Jason. “Nothing like that. It’s just...Jay...”

“We were sent a video,” Tim interjects. It’s blunt, but Dick is unspeakably grateful that he hadn’t had to say it himself. He’s messed this up enough as it is.

Jason turns wild eyes on Tim. It’s a testament to how much their relationship has improved that Tim doesn’t flinch.

“A video?”

“Of you and Bruce. Of him…” Tim breaks off with a grimace, but with the context it isn’t hard to tell what he was going to say.

Jason laughs again. The sound is so utterly devoid of any humour that Dick shivers.

“I don’t know what sort of fucked up game you’re playing but it isn’t funny. I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“I’m not lying,” Tim says, so softly that Dick struggles to hear him.

Jason hears him though. “Yeah?” he snaps. “Let’s see it, then.”

Tim blanches. He starts to shake his head but Jason seems to finally lose the little patience he has left, striding forward, pushing past Dick, his expression set in furious determination. Stupidly, Dick tries to grab at him - tries to stop him - but Jason wrenches his arm out of Dick’s grasp with a vicious snarl. Dick holds his hands up quickly, palms out. Jason glares, even as he closes the space between him and Tim, grasping the kid’s upper arm and marching him over to the computer.

Tim could escape the grip, Dick is sure. If he really wanted to, Dick could stop Jason. Steph and Cass too. Instead, they all stand in tense silence as Jason shoves Tim at the keyboard and growls, “show me.”

Tim casts one final, pleading look over his shoulder at Dick before tapping at the keyboard to bring the video up.

It’s the exact same scene as before, blown up huge on the batcomputer monitor. Dick keeps his eyes firmly on the floor, not wanting to see it again, not wanting to have seen it _ever_. He doesn’t need another reminder of how small Jason had looked beneath Bruce. The sound of it is bad enough - Jason’s choking sobs and Bruce’s terrible moans. Part of Dick wants to cover his ears like a child. He can’t do that, though. Not while Jason is here.

Mercifully, the sound cuts off after just a few seconds. In the wake of it, the cave is deathly silent, save for Jason’s quick, harsh breathing.

“What the fuck was that?”

The words sound as choked as Dick feels. When he glances up, Jason is staring up at the now blank computer screen, his face as pale as Dick has ever seen it, his eyes wide and wet. He makes a soft, sick sound in the back of his throat. Lifts a hand and presses it hard over his mouth. His next words are muffled by his palm.

“No, seriously - what was that? Is this - this is some seriously messed up joke.”

“Jason,” Tim says, softly, but Jason doesn’t seem to hear him. Just keeps shaking his head. He’s almost hyperventilating now, his chest heaving with every ragged pant.

Cass is at his side before Dick even really sees her move. She touches him with a surety that Dick knows he wouldn’t manage, gently wrapping one arm around his back and guiding him to the ground, pressing his head forward between his knees. 

“Safe,” she says, calmly. Firmly. “You are safe now, Jason.”

Dick startles into action, then, jerking forward like he’s been pulled by a string. When he reaches Jason, though, he hesitates, unsure how to help. Unsure how to handle this.

Jason looks up at his approach. He looks...devastated. But not as if he’s just seen something he recognises. There’s shock and fear on Jason’s face, but confusion too. And tears, streaking silently over Jason’s cheeks.

That tears at something deep in Dick’s chest. He kneels carefully in front of Jason, bracing his hands on his own thighs where Jason can see them. Cass has lifted her hands from him too, sitting back on her heels, hovering but not touching.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Jason,” Dick says, softly. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

Jason shakes his head, slowly. His eyes don’t leave Dick but it doesn’t seem as though he’s actually seeing him, just staring blankly.

“No,” he says. “That’s not...that didn’t happen. It didn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Dick asks, then winces at how stupid and insensitive that sounds.

“I think I’d fucking remember something like that,” Jason snaps. The anger isn’t exactly unexpected. In fact, it seems to settle Jason a little bit to be on such familiar ground with Dick. “I would remember.”

“Not necessarily,” Tim says. He isn’t looking at Jason, frowning hard at the keyboard in front of him instead.

Jason’s head snaps around to treat Tim to a furious glare. “What the fuck does that mean? You think I wouldn’t remember _that_?”

Tim shrugs. When he finally lifts his head to meet Jason’s gaze, his eyes are sharp, but his face is soft with sympathy. “Maybe not. Memories aren’t always reliable. You might have repressed it or...maybe you lost it when...after the pit?”

Dick doesn’t miss the way Tim shudders as he says it or the way Jason tenses. He feels his own body stiffen, too. Tim is right. Jason’s memory is patchy at the best of times - ruined by head trauma and months of living as an amnesiac corpse, then further battered by the pit. And traumatic memories are even more likely to be forgotten. Even healthy brains might repress something terrible out of existence. It’s not impossible that Jason simply doesn’t remember. But if they can’t even trust Jason’s memory, how can they ever be certain? Jason might not be lying when he says nothing happened, but he might not be telling the truth either.

But Jason just shakes his head harder. “No way. Look, I might not like Bruce all the time, but I know he isn’t...he wouldn’t do that. Okay? And I _know_ I would remember it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Dick asks, soft. 

“Because why would I forget this and not...not everything else?”

Dick’s throat, already swollen, tightens. His gut churns with a sudden surge of anxiety.

“Everything else?” he manages to squeak.

Jason shrugs, dropping his gaze to the ground between his feet. “Yeah. If I was going to forget, why this? Why not, you know, my death? Or digging my way out of my coffin? Or I don’t know, any of my shitty fucking life?”

Dick’s chest throbs at the reminder of just how much trauma Jason has been through. At the same time, he can’t help thinking that he knows exactly why Jason might have forgotten this over everything else. Sure, Jason’s death was brutal and tragic and terrible - Dick still remembers the visceral shock and horror he’d felt when he’d first heard his baby brother was gone - but it isn’t this. 

Dick shouldn’t have to compare them, but he can’t help but think that he knows which one is worse.

As if reading his mind, Jason’s head snaps up to glare at Dick. “Don’t,” he growls, “try to tell me that it’s because this is _worse_. I still remember my first time on the streets too and, honestly, it doesn’t even compare to waking up in a coffin.”

Dick goes cold. No. Jason can’t mean what Dick thinks he means. On the streets? Jason was so young. He was just a little kid.

And that means that even if the video is fake, even if it turns out that Bruce never touched Jason like that, Dick’s little brother was still hurt. He was still _raped_. And Dick hadn’t known. All those years and Dick is only finding out now.

Dick feels dizzy. Acid burns hot at the back of his throat. He has to swallow convulsively before he can speak.

“Your first time?”

The look Jason gives him is one of utter contempt. “I was a homeless little kid for three years, Dick. How the fuck did you think I stayed alive?”

No. _Fuck._ Dick had always foolishly believed that Jason had scraped by stealing or begging or...fuck. It’s not like Dick doesn’t know what the reality for Gotham’s street kids is - he deals with it all the time, first as Robin and then as Nightwing - but he’d never applied that to his little brother.

He meets Cass’ eyes over Jason’s shoulder. She looks sad but not surprised, her eyes dark and liquid. When he glances at Tim, there is surprise on his face, and his mouth is tight with horror. Dick knows that horror is mirrored in his own expression.

“Jesus, Jason…”

“Shut up,” Jason snaps. He rubs one hand hard over his eyes, then pushes himself to his feet. Dick follows him, hovering in case Jason needs to be steadied, but Jason shoots him such a poisonous look that Dick steps back.

“I didn’t tell you that because I wanted your fucking pity, okay? It happened and it wasn’t even the worst part of my life. So you can get that kicked puppy look off your face.”

Dick tries to blank his expression but it’s hard. Even when Dick had been watching that video, there had always been that little part of him that had been shouting that it was fake, that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t his little brother being subjected to such horrendous abuse. Now, though, even if it turns out that video has zero basis in the truth, Dick will know that it _did_ happen to Jason. That, at some point in time, a man much bigger and stronger than him had held him down and….

Dick finds he can’t finish that thought. Not without losing whatever tenuous control he’s still clinging to.

“The video is fake,” Jason says with enviable conviction. “Which means someone created it and sent it to...uh - how many people have seen this?”

Jason says it casually, but Dick knows that he cares deeply about the answer. It’s a video of him being raped after all. Even if it is fake, it’s still a terrible violation of privacy.

“We don’t know for sure,” Tim says, quietly. “The four of us. Superman. They sent it to Damian, too.”

Jason’s eyes go wide in horror. 

“He didn’t see it,” Dick cuts in. “We deleted it before he could see it.”

Jason’s relief is almost palpable. “Okay, so they sent it to us bats and Superman. What about the Justice League? Or...or the press?”

“We don’t know,” Tim says again.

“So what’s the fucking point? Why go to all the bother to create some fake video and only send it to people who can prove it isn’t real just by asking me?”

At that, Steph finally steps forward. She’s been quiet ever since Jason arrived at the cave, which Dick is grateful for. He’s pretty sure that Steph and Jason get on, but the reminder of how many people are witness to his pain is not exactly helpful.

“We haven’t proved it isn’t real, though, have we?” she says, and the anger in her voice keeps it from being as gentle as she was probably aiming for. “Oracle checked it out and couldn’t find any evidence of forgery. You don’t remember it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Jason must like Steph, because he doesn’t snap at her, just pales a little and asks, in a slightly strangled voice: “Oracle checked it out?”

Steph nods, jerkily, and Jason shuts his eyes and presses one hand over his face for a long moment.

“Fuck. Okay. That doesn’t mean - okay.” 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. When he looks up again, his jaw is set.

“I need to talk to Bruce.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit shorter than the other chapters but, holy shit, when did it get to like, 3 months since I last updated?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy ;)

It isn’t often that Bruce genuinely doesn’t know what to do. Usually he has a plan for every occasion, a thousand contingencies and back ups and plan Cs. Sure, Bruce is still human, there are some things that he can never be fully prepared for, there are times where he doesn’t always have a plan already in his back pocket, but, usually, Bruce has at least some idea of his next move in the back of his head.

But as Bruce follows Superman out of the zeta tube onto the Watchtower, for once his mind is totally blank.  
There are no plans for how to deal with the video forming at the back of his mind. No cogs whirring about next steps and possible outcomes. The only thing Bruce can seem to hold in his mind for more than a few seconds is that terrible image. All he can think about is his little boy being _raped_. Being raped by _him_.

Because that’s the truly awful part of all of this. Not that the act itself isn’t bad enough. If he’d had to watch a video of anyone abusing his son like that, he knows his reaction wouldn’t be pretty. He knows he’d feel the sick horror and grief and anger that he’s feeling now. It’s just...well, Bruce has had a long time to come to terms with Jason’s past. Not that he could ever truly accept the way his son had been hurt as a child. Not that it doesn’t blindside him sometimes, still, the knowledge of exactly how badly Jason had been abused. The fact that Bruce might never bring every evil person who’d dared to touch him to justice.

But this is something different. This is someone with _Bruce’s_ face hurting his son like that. And Bruce can’t seem to get his head around it.

He can’t stop thinking about Dick’s anger. Or the way he’d yelled those terrible words at him. His mind catches on it like a broken record, skipping between the video and Dick’s tear-bright eyes and Tim’s pinched face. It hurts worse than Bruce could ever have anticipated, knowing that the people he loves - his own children - could ever think him capable of something like this.

And that shouldn’t be the worst part of this - it isn’t, not really - but it hurts all the same.

There’s a rush of air, then Flash is standing in front of them, head cocked curiously.

“Batman? Supes? What’s going on? You don’t normally stop by unannounced.”

Superman’s shoulders draw tight and he throws Bruce a sort of helpless look. Bruce feels a similar sort of helplessness in his chest. But having someone else at as big a loss as he is seems to settle something in Bruce’s head. Superman isn’t going to take control of this. So Bruce needs to.

“Is J’ohnn around? Or Wonder Woman?”

If anything, Flash just looks more confused at that. “Errr, J’ohnn’s on Mars at the moment, but I think Diana’s about somewhere.”

“Could you find her for me?” Bruce asks, clipped. “And tell her to bring her lasso.”

Flash cocks his head again. The movement makes him look a little like a dog, Bruce thinks, but charitably doesn’t say.

“Are we interrogating someone?”

_Me,_ Bruce thinks grimly. “Something like that.”

Clark is watching him with wide eyes, as if he hadn’t thought of the possibility that Bruce might be able to clear his name so easily. At least they have this opportunity, Bruce muses. Without some way to prove beyond all doubt that he’s telling the truth, this could very easily have dragged on for far longer than palatable.

Bruce needs everyone to know that this wasn’t him. He needs to be able to understand what it _was_ and figure out how to make it right and who he needs to punish.

Because, _god_ , he wants to punish someone. He doesn’t know what else to do with the anger roiling around in his stomach. He has no idea who to direct it at. No outlet. Even he knows that lashing out right now will only make things worse. He just needs to wait until he’s proven himself innocent.

For one, brief, painful moment, Bruce has a spasm of doubt. What if...what if something did happen and Bruce just doesn’t remember? What if he’d had some sort of...breakdown? What if he’d been brainwashed? The thought that he might have hurt Jason makes him want to vomit.

He hadn’t. He _wouldn’t_.

The Flash disappears without any more questions. Clark’s hand tightens on Bruce’s shoulder, half-turning him towards him. Bruce doesn’t resist him, although he wants to.

“Bruce-“

“Don’t,” Bruce interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear whatever Clark is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear any justifications or apologies or whatever Clark feels like Bruce needs.

All Bruce needs is the truth.

So they wait in silence for the Flash to return. The Watchtower is practically empty. No one comes to the zeta room, so it’s only the two of them, and Bruce is tense the entire time, waiting for Clark to say something inane, terrified of what might happen when Diana finally arrives.

It doesn’t take long. Clark shifts, clearly hearing the footsteps before Bruce does. It sounds like more than two people and Bruce tenses further, anticipating an audience. That’s the last thing he needs.

There are three people that step back into the zeta room: Flash, Wonder Woman, and - to Bruce’s irritation and endless annoyance - Green Lantern.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asks, stiffly.

Hal grins at him like the insufferable idiot he is. “I heard there was an interrogation happening. I thought I could help.” He looks around the room, exaggerating the movement. “I don’t see anyone but you and Supes though, Spooky.”

“Green Lantern,” Superman says, clearly uncomfortable. “We really only need Wonder Woman here. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

“Oh, I get it.” Hal tosses Batman a wink that makes the lense of his domino flash. “You won’t even notice we’re here.”

Superman opens his mouth to argue, but Bruce doesn’t have the patience to wrangle Hal right now. All he wants is to get this over with so he can clear his name and work on investigating that video. If Green Lantern and the Flash want to watch him use the lasso of truth, he doesn’t have the energy to stop them.

“Let’s just get this over with, please,” he says, forcing himself not to pinch the bridge of his nose and holding one hand out to Wonder Woman.

She steps forward but hesitates, glancing between Superman and Batman with concern. “Is it you who is being interrogated, Batman?”

“It’s not an interrogation,” Bruce says. “I just need you to know I’m telling the truth.”

She squints at him suspiciously for another second but eventually relents, unwinding a section of the lasso at her waist and wrapping it around Bruce’s wrist. It glows a warm gold and Bruce knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be nothing but the truth - at least, what he knows to be the truth.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. Bruce had gotten accusations before, when he had first taken Dick in, then again when he had adopted Jason. It’s something that he’d never truly felt the need to defend himself against because it had always been so patently absurd. He’d never, for one moment, thought anyone could actually believe that Bruce would do something like that. And anyone that did - well, they weren’t worth Bruce’s time or the breath he’d waste refuting them.

Now though, he’s having to genuinely defend himself. What he says next won’t be for tactless media hounds or gossip-hungry socialites. It will be for his friends, his family who, whether they want to or not, currently believe he’s the sort of man who could sexually abuse a child. The thought makes Bruce feel a little light-headed. For a moment, he wants nothing more than to sit down and put his head between his knees and have the whole world fade away.

He can’t do that though. Whether he likes it or not, that video exists, and Bruce is going to have to deal with that.

So he focuses on Clark, ignoring the concerned gaze of Wonder Woman and the heavy stares of the Flash and Green Lantern. Clark stares back, evenly, his blue eyes wide and pained.

“I did not send that video,” Bruce starts with, and a little of the tension in his chest eases at the words, clear and calm and exactly what Bruce needed to say. “I have never touched Jason - or any other child - in a sexual manner. The person in that video is not me. I have never raped Jason Todd. Nor would I ever.”

He can see some of the tension physically leach out of Clark. His face smooths out. A tentative smile quirks his lips. Bruce lets out his own heavy breath, releasing some of the pressure in his chest. He’d said it. With the lasso of truth wrapped around his arm, glowing softly, he’d said it. And with witnesses, too.

“What the fuck?” Hal says, voice cold. “What the fuck was that?”

Bruce turns to see both Green Lantern and the Flash staring at him with wide eyes. Wonder Woman is frowning, less shocked and more concerned. Bruce doesn’t exactly blame them.

He opens his mouth to tell them it’s none of their business, but the lasso is still wrapped around his wrist, so what comes out instead is:

“A video was sent to my family that appeared to show me raping my son. It was not me in that video. I do not know where it came from.”

Understandably, the others don’t look any less shocked at that revelation. Under his mask, the Flash looks a little green.

“What do you mean?” he croaks. “A video of...what?”

Bruce grinds his jaw in an attempt to keep the words between his teeth. He doesn’t want to have to say them again. They’re awful. Ugly. But the lasso compels them to keep spilling out of his throat.

“Of someone who looks like me, raping my son.”

“Diana,” Clark says, softly.

Wonder Woman startles at the sound of her name, before stepping forward and unwinding the lasso from Bruce’s wrist. She offers him an apologetic look as she does so.

“Who would send such a thing?” she asks. 

Bruce shrugs. It’s been churning in the back of his mind, but he still hasn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. His brain shies away from the idea of shapeshifters and time displacements and anything that might mean that Jason genuinely had to suffer this. But that doesn’t leave many options left, considering Barbara has already ruled out technological manipulation. Magic, maybe? Or perhaps two different shapeshifters? But there’s still the question of how they had accessed Bruce’s private accounts, regardless of how the actual video was filmed.

“But it’s not...it’s not really your kid, right?” Flash asks, in a small voice. “If it isn’t you?”

Bruce’s throat feels too tight. He wishes he’d made them all leave before he’d used the lasso, but, honestly, he’d appreciated the idea of witnesses - more than just Clark to back him up.

Now though, he’s starting to regret it.

Because Bruce doesn’t have any answers and he isn’t in control here. The last thing he needs is to bring more variables into the equation.

“I don-“

Behind him, the zeta flares into life. Bruce turns automatically, closest to the tube and whoever might be appearing.

Somehow, it’s both a painful shock and utterly unsurprising when Jason steps out.

Jason blinks, clearly disoriented by the sudden shift in location, and Bruce is struck by the fact that he isn’t wearing a domino. Without it, Jason looks much younger. Bruce can see the little kid he’d once been in Jason’s face. The thought makes him feel vaguely ill.

“B?” Jason asks, gaze zeroing in on Bruce almost immediately.

At the same time, the zeta flares again, and both Tim and Dick step out. Both of them are wearing the same civilian clothes they’d been in when Bruce had seen them in the cave. The part of Bruce that is always on duty bristles at the fact that three of his kids are standing on the Watchtower with their faces bare for everyone to see. Another part of Bruce doesn’t give two shits, because Jason is here and Bruce might finally be about to get some answers.

“Jason,” Dick gasps, grasping at Jason’s shoulder and tugging like he wants to pull Jason right back through the zeta. “I thought I’d said-“

Jason shrugs him off. “Give it a rest,” he growls. “B, you wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Bruce’s mouth goes dry. Jason’s eyes are red and a little puffy, like he’s been crying, but his face is all steely determination. He doesn’t look scared - not of Bruce. He doesn’t look particularly happy either. Bruce wishes he had something better to say than the truth.

“Jay…” he starts, then trails off when he doesn’t know how to finish.

Jason glares. Behind him, Tim’s eyes narrow as he takes in Wonder Woman, standing just behind Bruce, the end of her lasso still in one hand.

“Were you using the lasso?” Tim asks. “Or just about to?”

“He used it,” Clark says, before Bruce can get a word out. “We were all here to verify. He said he didn’t do it.”

Bruce is a little gratified by the way both Dick and Tim’s shoulders slump in obvious relief. Dick shoots Bruce a pained look that Bruce can’t parse. Is it an apology? Or just an acknowledgement?

He doesn’t need an apology. Not from Dick. Not for this.

“Of course he didn’t do it,” Jason snaps and Bruce hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear that - needed someone to _believe_ him. Needed Jason, specifically, to understand.

“Jay,” Dick says, a little helplessly.

“I _told you_ it didn’t happen.”

Tentative hope blooms in Bruce’s chest. Could that mean…? If Jason is saying it didn’t happen...does that mean that his son hadn’t had to suffer the brutality that was on that video? Bruce would give anything for the video not to be real. He can’t change the terrible things that have happened in Jason’s past, but if he can be spared this one awful thing, Bruce will take that.

“It didn’t happen?” Bruce confirms, his heart in his throat. He’d meant for it to sound more certain, but there’s a little waver in his voice that he can’t flatten out.

Jason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Behind him, Dick’s expression hardens.

“You should know it didn’t,” Dick says, slowly, voice cold. “If you’re telling the truth.”

Bruce shifts his shoulders. He can’t seem to look away from Jason, from those damp eyes.

“It wasn’t me. But I was theorising...perhaps it may have been a shapeshifter, or a time displacement, or a Bruce from an alternative dimension.”

Jason is already shaking his head. “No,” he says, “I know it didn’t happen. I would remember.”

Dick pulls an interesting expression. Bruce is too caught up in what Jason is saying to really care. It didn’t happen. Jason hadn’t had to suffer that. Whatever damage their relationship has taken through the years, it wasn’t because of that. It wasn’t because of something that Bruce can never hope to fix.

“Thank god,” Bruce whispers, without even really meaning to say the words. “Thank god, Jay.”

“But that video has come from somewhere,” Tim cuts in, before anyone can really reply to that. “It didn’t just materialise out of the blue.”

It’s a reminder to Bruce of how much Tim is like him - more than any of his other children. The mind whirring away in Tim’s head is as like Bruce’s as any - better than, even. Because it’s always working, always figuring things out. Even when Bruce’s is a blank expanse of nothingness.

“No,” he agrees, “it didn’t.”

“So what,” Jason says, “we thinking magic or something? Or like...some weird space-fabric distortion?”

Bruce shrugs. He hasn’t truly allowed himself to think about it. Because thinking about it meant involving himself, and Bruce hadn’t wanted to do that if involving himself might have meant hurting his son. 

Bruce knows he’s treated Jason badly in his life. There have been a thousand times that Bruce could have been better. A thousand words that have cut like knives. A thousand actions that could have meant something good, something genuine, but that only hurt instead. He knows he hasn’t been the best father to Jason.

But it had been good, once, and Bruce is so, so glad that hasn’t been tainted. He doesn’t think he could stand the knowledge that Jason had hated him for this on top of everything else.

“I think we should talk to Zatanna,” Bruce says, “or Doctor Fate. Rule out magic or anything similar.”

Jason nods, although he looks uncomfortable. Bruce doesn’t exactly blame him, but the tight set of his son’s jaw twists his stomach, anyway.

“Do they…” Jason pauses. Takes a deep, shaky breath. He isn’t looking at Bruce, or anyone else in the room, staring at the floor with laser-focus. “Do they have to watch the video?”

Bruce’s chest clenches. Of course. Whether the events on the video had truly happened or not, Jason has lived something close to them. He knows exactly how it feels to be trapped under someone bigger and stronger than him, unable to get away.

As always, when he thinks about his son’s past, hot acid burns at the back of Bruce’s throat. If he could go back and change it, he would in a heartbeat. Instead, all he can do is try to mitigate the consequences as best he can. And he can’t even do that well.

Because he knows exactly why Jason might hate the idea of someone else viewing that video. Bruce is uncomfortable with it - both with the idea that someone might have to see him doing something so terrible, and with the thought of anyone seeing his son like that: so young and vulnerable and in a sexual situation that no one should ever see him in. It can only be worse for Jason, knowing that whether that video is real or not, it’s still footage of him at his most vulnerable.

Jason had been as vulnerable with plenty of men before, but it had never been recorded. As far as Bruce is aware, he and Alfred are the only people who knew before this. Having anyone else see him like that must be a hard pill to swallow.

It’s bad enough that his whole family has seen it. Having practical strangers watch something like that must be hell.

But Bruce can’t reassure Jason. He can’t tell him that no one else will possibly see it. Because he has no idea where it’s come from. No idea who sent it or why. Having Zatanna look the video over is a small price to pay for some answers.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Bruce manages, because it’s all he can think to say.

Jason shrugs, lifting one shoulder jerkily. He hasn’t looked up from the ground, though, and Bruce’s chest aches.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, though, “this shit isn’t your fault. I get it.”

Dick sets a hand on Jason’s shoulder again. This time, Jason doesn’t shrug him off. The urge to step forward and draw his son into a hug has Bruce’s fingers twitching, but he doesn’t. Doing so would undoubtedly be foolish. Even at the best of times, Jason is leery about physical contact - with anyone, but especially with Bruce. And now is definitely not a good time.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dick says softly. 

“We will,” Bruce says, with more confidence than he feels. They have the entire Watchtower at their disposal, after all. “First, you boys need to put on some masks. Then we can talk to Zatanna and get a handle on this.”

Jason nods, looking a little more settled now that a plan - as much as it can be called a plan - has been decided on.

Clark clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “I’ll go find Zatanna for you,” he says, before making a hasty exit.

Bruce is a little surprised to realise that the rest of their audience has already tactfully excused themselves. Bruce and the boys should head out, too. Standing around in the zeta room isn’t going to get this mess figured out.

“Here,” Bruce says, reaching into his utility belt and retrieving three of the extra dominos he keeps on hand. There are five secreted in a hidden compartment on the belt, just in case.

He has to step close to Jason to hand them out, but his son doesn’t seem bothered by the proximity. Another string of tension in his chest eases.

When he reaches to hand Dick his, Dick grips his wrist. Bruce freezes.

“Hey,” Dick says, softly, taking the mask with one hand and keeping his hold on Bruce with the other, “I should say…look, I should say I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“No,” Bruce interrupts, “you don’t need to say sorry. I understand. If I was in your situation, I would have done the same.”

Bruce has no idea whether that’s actually true or not, but it’s clearly the right thing to say, because Dick smiles a little and releases Bruce’s wrist, before reaching up and fixing his mask over his face.

Bruce watches his son’s blue eyes disappear beneath the white-out lenses with a strange sense of dread.

As if sensing Bruce’s thoughts, Dick cocks his head and smiles again. “I meant it when I said we’ll figure this out,” he says.

“I know,” Bruce agrees, and wishes he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


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